


like firestones

by theredhoodie



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two stood, facing each other, waiting for <i>something</i> to happen. Waiting for the other to break. Waiting for one to flat out punch the other in the face. <i>Anything.</i> In reality, they were just two idiots standing in the middle of a field under a darkening sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like firestones

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is gonna be a long set of notes.
> 
> 1) This is some AU thing that I came up with based off of a tumblr post. In this AU, just pretend Thomas was just like every other Glader (with the added effect that he's still a little shit) and you'll be fine.
> 
> 2) This is based mostly in the movie 'verse, with some nods to the books.
> 
> 3) There's SPOILERS for The Death Cure if you haven't read the books. Just FYI.
> 
> 4) Thanks to my beta Jessie, who read this and continued to yell at me about it even though she doesn't know the fandom. ;)
> 
> 5) This was also meant to have a lot of Newt/Minho involved in it but it got overtaken by Thomas/Gally, so I'm sorry for that, and that's why I didn't put Newt/Minho in the tags because they don't necessarily have any scenes in this.
> 
> 6) The title (is shitty I couldn't come up with anything good) comes from "Firestone" by Kygo and Conrad.
> 
> 7) Please be kind. I wrote this in one sitting while thoroughly overtaken by TMR fangirl obsession.

"I'm trying to find a way  _out_  of here," Thomas said, not at all impressed with the Keepers right now; especially Gally.

"Yeah? And I'm trying to keep everyone in here safe!" Gally retorted. His voice rose a few octaves louder than Thomas's. "We've always been safe here, and you're trying to ruin it."

Thomas walked farther away from the Council Room, away from the Keepers not taking him seriously. He was trying to get the Gladers  _out_  of this place. It was obvious to everyone that the Maze was put there for reasons other than to keep the Gladers in shape. They had to get out of here.

But Gally—Gally had other plans. And he kept blocking Thomas every time he tried to suggest something new.

"I'm not trying to ruin anything, Gally," Thomas shot over his shoulder.

"I think you  _are_!"

Thomas stopped short and whirled around, arms flying from his sides in frustration. "We've had this argument before," he said, "why don't you actually say what you mean for once, Gally! This isn't just about me being a Greenie anymore and you and I both know it!"

The other Gladers had gathered in a lose, wide circle, just close enough to hear, but far enough to be out of Thomas and Gally's peripheral vision.

"I'm just trying to protect you!" Gally yelled finally, his voice echoing all over with the amount of force he put behind it.

"Well, I'm just trying to protect  _you_!" Thomas yelled back, with just as much force.

And then, they both realized what they'd said. Their words settled like a heavy blanket over the Glade. They stared at each other, chests heaving from yelling and running.

"'Bout bloody time," Newt muttered nearby.

The two stood, facing each other, waiting for  _something_  to happen. Waiting for the other to break. Waiting for one to flat out punch the other in the face.  _Anything_. In reality, they were just two idiots standing in the middle of a field under a darkening sky.

"What the hell does that mean?" Thomas asked finally, swinging a hand in Gally's direction. "You've been nothing but an asshole to me ever since I got here!"

"Because you keep breaking the rules!" Gally emphasized. "You break the rules, you get hurt—or killed." His logic was simple. "And what has your rule breaking done for the rest of us?"

Thomas let out a frustrated breath as they circled around to this same argument. "I've been trying to get you guys  _out_  of this shucking place."

"What if we want to be here?" Gally's voice was rising again. This could start them cycling through another pointless fight.

Thomas closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a hand. "Gally, look: we're not meant to be here. None of us. I can promise you that."

"Oh really, you can promise me htat? And who're you,  _Greenie_?"

Thomas was going to argue, he really was, but they weren't alone out here and things were getting increasingly more difficult to put into words. "You know what? You're right." He threw up his hands. "I'm just the Greenie. I don't know anything."

He walked away then, spotting Newt and decided to head in his direction. Once they met, Newt clapped a hand on Thomas's shoulder and walked beside him back toward the bunks. "Alright there, Tommy?"

Thomas grumbled something. It sounded like a string of curse words not native to the Glade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gally followed Thomas into the woods. He was quiet about it, leaving the Builders and his empty plate behind. Thomas often ate alone in the woods, even after all the time he'd been here. Chuck sometimes followed him, but that was only in the beginning. For the most part, Thomas ate alone. He liked the silence, the time to be alone with never-ending thoughts.

Gally wasn't quiet about his arrival though; leaves and twigs crunched and snapped under his boots. He also announced himself with a simple "Hey," to which Thomas gave him a hard look, but he echoed the greeting anyway.

Gally sat down next to him on the ground.

Thomas scraped up the rest of his meal—stewed vegetables and pork. It wasn't actually all that bad. "What do you want, Gally?" he asked before shoveling some potatoes and carrots into his mouth.

"About earlier…"

Thomas waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "What about it?" He prompted after an awkward beat of silence.

Gally dug into the dirt at his side with an index finger, working on freeing a small rock from the dense soil. "I know you're just thinking about getting us out of here," he sounded disgruntled about that fact, "but the truth is, I've been here way longer than you."

"Yeah, yeah. Spare me the Greenie speech. I've heard it enough," Thomas sighed, laying aside his metal plate-bowl-contraption.

"That's not what I mean," Gally said, then retraced his steps. "Actually, that is what I mean. You gotta stop trying to fix everything. We're safe here."

"Yeah, but for how long?" Thomas countered. "I don't know, you don't know. Everyone's in the dark here."

Gally let out a frustrated breath. "I didn't actually come here to argue for once."

Thomas blinked and looked over at him. Gally didn't say anything else, so Thomas decided to fill the space with something that would, probably, lead away from an argument. "I won't be the Greenie anymore after tomorrow."

Gally nodded. "Yeah. And you lucky shuck don't even have to do the usual greeting for the poor shank." He nudged Thomas's shoulder and clapped a hand down on Thomas's knee.

The gesture, kind in a way that Gally  _wasn't_ —at least toward Thomas—dragged the silence of the woods around them both tightly, blocking out the distant sounds of fire roaring and Gladers hollering. Gally didn't move his hand and Thomas could feel not only the weight on his leg, but the heat, too.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Um," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say and the silence was stifling.

"Lights out soon," Gally said, and then he kissed Thomas.

Just like that. No hesitation or anything. Just leaned right over and kissed him. It was short and brisk— _chaste_ —and then it was over, and Gally was walking away. He never looked back.

Thomas didn't move from his spot. He blinked into the darkness of the woods, wondering if he should go after Gally, but he didn't. He figured they'd just get into another fight if he tried.

He finally dragged himself off the ground with his plate and fork and joined every other Galder in the middle of the Glade. They were stamping out the fire and starting to return to their barracks. He didn't see Gally anywhere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Runners were up before anyone else. That included Thomas. He was hovering by Minho's side, waiting for the doors to open, but his mind was a million miles away. Well, not millions. It barely a mile across the Glade and Gally was somewhere in that vicinity.

The doors groaned open and the Runners took off. Thomas, the newest, usually started off with Minho and broke off onto his own for the last stretch of the day. They ran—Thomas wasn't typically graceful, but he could run fast—until it was time to stop for lunch.

"You've been uncharacteristically quiet," Minho mentioned as they pulled out their food.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "And you're complaining?" Since Minho wasn't a big talker, Thomas would have figured he'd enjoy some peace from him for once.

Minho shrugged. "Newt told me what happened last night. With you and Gally?"

Thomas almost choked on his sandwich. "What?" he coughed, immediately thinking of the woods and the kiss.

And then he remembered that no one had been there, much less Newt, and that Minho must have been talking about the argument. "What'd he say?" Thomas asked.

Minho looked at him, thoughtfully chewing. "You shucks finally realized…" He shook his head.

"Realized what?" Thomas pressed, his insatiable need to ask questions finally bubbling to the surface.

"That you're both just trying to help each other without  _actually_  helping each other," Minho said, skirting around the issue but at the same time, laying it out pretty clearly. "The Glade doesn't work unless we're all on the same page. You've caused some tension."

"Yeah, I noticed," Thomas said glumly. He didn't  _want_  to, that was for sure, but he also didn't want to be stuck in this maze for three years.

"I know it's been a month and it hasn't gotten anywhere, but just try not to be rippin' into each other all the time," Minho suggested. Politely. It was funny—or telling—how nice Minho was being.

Thomas thought of the tiny kiss and shook his head. "I'm not promising anything," he said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Runners immediately went to the Map Room after a day out, especially the Greenest ones. Thomas included. He was more interested in who the new Greenbean was, but Minho prodded him to jog across the Glade and through the trees to the Map Room. There, Thomas had to actually focus, mapping out the route he took today. He picked it up fast enough, but he still made a mistake. Minho didn't say anything about it, just that Thomas would get used to it.

It was still light out by the time they exited the building, leaving their Running gear there. He fell into pace next to Minho and they joined the rest of the Gladers.

"Where's the Greenie?" Minho asked.

"Alby's off giving the tour," Winston replied.

"Since Thomas," Gally said, arriving and dropping his elbow heavily on Thomas's shoulder, "wasn't here, Chuck had to get the Greenbean a bunk."

"I'm used to it," Chuck said sheepishly. A tall, thin boy with a beak of a nose appeared over his shoulder. Thomas didn't recognize him, so that could only mean one thing.

Alby appeared next. "Greenie, this is Thomas. He was the Greenie before you. Though he never acted like it."

A rough chuckle made it's way through the crowd of boys.

Thomas had a hard time catching his breath with Gally standing there using him as an armrest, so he lurched forward, and shook the Greenie's hand. "You're in for a hell of a night," Thomas said as if he'd been here as long as Alby or Minho.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone helped set up the same extra-exuberant bonfire that had been given in honor of Thomas's arrival. The wood was gathered, the food was prepped—everyone had something to do.

The sky darkened and the fire sparked and cracked on the end of spears before Newt, Alby and Minho threw them into the wood pile. The pyramid of dry wood caught quickly, and waves of heat radiated off of the ten foot flames.

Thomas walked around with the Greenie, still nameless, going through the same round of introductions as Newt had with him. It was easy; everyone knew Thomas. They knew he was reckless, that rules and him didn't mix, that he opted for Running over any of the easier jobs in the Glade and he'd  _gotten_  it.

Thomas knew everyone's name by now, even if they didn't know each other well.

"How long'd it take to get your name back?" the Greenie asked as they skirted around the fire, around the wrestling ring where Gally was currently taking on Zart, who was holding his own pretty well.

Thomas scratched the back of his neck. "Not long. There's uh…just wait, it'll come to you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas sat off to the side. Newt walked with the Greenie now, giving Thomas a break. It didn't take long for Gally to rope him into wrestling. It took him longer than Thomas to figure out his name, but when he did, everyone chanted and cheered and even Thomas got to his feet and joined in.

" _ARIS! ARIS!"_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gally's concoction of some sad excuse for alcohol was passed around and more than one Glader was passed out somewhere far from their hammock. Thomas was about to head back to his own to sleep when Gally, once again, appeared without him noticing and clapped him on the shoulder.

Thomas jumped and yelped, though he'd never admit it later, and turned around to glare. All within the span of a second. Maybe two. "What the hell, Gally," he said, shoving away his arm.

"Follow me," Gally said, ignoring the argument fodder clearly laid out in front of him.

Thomas rolled his eyes and shook his head, watching Gally walk towards (where else) the woods. Jogging to catch up was easy, even though he had sloshed down half a jar of "alcohol" and spent his entire day running at top speeds through the Maze.

"Are we gonna talk or are you taking me over there to kill me?" Thoams asked.

"Haven't decided yet."

Thomas almost turned around and left, but he followed Gally instead. He knew that he had to be up early, but that wasn't going to stop him. As everyone in the Glade knew, Thomas and rules didn't exactly mesh.

"So uh…about that thing that happened," Thomas tried again as they reached the first trees. It was dark in the woods and Thomas had more bad than good memories attached to the place, so he was glad when Gally stopped just a few trees in.

"What thing?" Gally asked, turning around. He didn't stand  _still_  but he wasn't walking any farther into the woods.

Thomas waved a hand. "C'mon, Gally, there's no one here, you don't have to be such a slinthead." He dropped his arm.

"Minho called for a Gathering earlier," Gally said. He knew, of course, because he was a Keeper.

Thomas shrugged. "So?"

"It's about you."

"When is it not?" Thomas hadn't meant it to come out sounding so arrogant, but the words fell from his mouth as such and there was nothing he could do about it.

"This isn't a game, Thomas." Gally walked closer and poked two fingers at Thomas's chest. "You wanna tell me what stupid thing you're thinking of doing next?"

Thomas knew what Gally meant. And he could have said it. It would be easy to just tell Gally that Thomas suggested staying out in the Maze  _at night_  to try to figure out where the Grievers came from.

But that was not what Thomas did.

Gally was standing close, so it was easy for Thomas to grab his shoulders, shove him back against a tree, and kiss him.

It was no short, chaste kiss either. It was a fully blown, slightly-drunk kiss complete with a startled noise from Gally.

This was no one quick kiss and gone thing. This was Thomas dragging his blunt nails down the back of Gally's neck. This was Gally grappling for Thomas's hips and yanking him closer, fingers digging into his skin through the fabric of his pants. This was sharp teeth and hot, slick tongues and rough, unforgiving bark biting into Gally's back.

A Griever, probably right outside the door closest to the woods, let out a scream so loud and ear piercing that the two of them jumped apart, startled like rabbits. The Griever screeched again, sending chills down Thomas's spine.

"I need to go," Gally said, his voice sounding surprisingly small in the aftermath of the Griever's cry.

"What?" Thomas asked, but Gally was already walking past him, out into the Glade. Thomas wanted to follow him, but found his pants were too tight to even fathom jogging and so he stood there, wondering—for only a brief moment—how Gally was walking so fast, before Thomas decided that he was just going to sleep there at the edge of the woods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minho found him in the morning. "C'mon, we're running early and coming back after lunch," he said, throwing a pack at Thomas.

Thomas blinked and got to his feet. He stretched and his back popped. He stilled for a fleeting moment, wondering if he'd broken something, but the thought was quickly shaken away. "What? Why?"

"The Gathering," Minho said, handing him a fresh tomato.

"What's this?" Thomas asked.

"Just imagine you're eating an apple," Minho said, beginning to walk to the doors.

Thomas shrugged into his pack and tied it on the side. He tossed the tomato and caught it before digging his teeth in. It was fresh, juicy and delicious. He didn't even need to think of it as an apple to devour it.

"How are you gonna vote?" Thomas asked Minho as he licked his fingers and stopped beside Minho by the doors. The other Runners were already joining them.

Minho just gave him a hard look that told Thomas there was no way he was giving anything away before the official Gathering.

Turns out he wouldn't need to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Grievers rarely, if ever, came out during the day.

Thomas had a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Today was no exception.

He managed to kill the beast, but not before it flung one of its metal arms out and stung him.

The effects of the sting came almost immediately. He felt dizzy, disoriented. He lifted up his shirt to see black veins spiderwebbing away from the gaping hole of the wound. His nerves were on fire.

Minho skidded around the corner and saw him. Thomas, overtaken by whatever he'd been injected with, attacked, but didn't get far. Minho was fast, and knocked him out.

They'd only been running for an hour.

Minho carried him all the way back to the Glade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas didn't remember much except what he  _remembered_. He didn't remember screaming for hours or thrashing in bed. He didn't remember that Gally couldn't even go near the med-hut. He didn't remember Aris revealing to Newt that he came with a pocket full of syringes. He didn't remember almost dying from being stung. He didn't even remember the intense pain of being shot with the syringe in hopes that it would cure him instead of hastening his death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He remembered gasping awake, feeling like he was lying on hot coals while being simultaneously stuck with a thousand needles. He sputtered to consciousness, heaving and out of sorts, nearly knocking out Jeff before he calmed down enough to sit on the bed.

Newt, Alby, and Minho came in moments later.

Thomas sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, shaking.

"Thomas," Newt said calmly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Thomas jerked away and Newt glanced at Alby.

Alby walked around the bed and crouched down in front of Thomas. "Thomas? How do you feel?" There was no textbook on how to treat someone who had been stung. They had always died before now. This was new territory for everyone.

Thomas's entire body shook, though it was unnoticeable unless you were close. His eyes were distant, dark,  _haunted_. "Where's Gally?" he asked. More like croaked, his throat hot and dry.

Alby glanced up at the other Keepers. "Thomas," Alby said, reaching out a hand.

Thomas slapped it away and stood up faster than anyone expected him to be able to. Alby stood up too, ready to stop him if he reacted violently.

"I want to talk to Gally," Thomas said, each word costing him more energy than it should have.

Alby hesitated and then nodded. He left.

Moments after he was gone, Thomas collapsed on the bed, his legs shaking. Tears freely fell from his eyes and he wiped them away and sniffed.

Minho and Newt didn't know what to do. Jeff was hovering in the corner.

"Thomas," Newt said finally, stepping into Thomas's line of sight but not trying to get any closer. They had to treat him like a cornered animal. "What happened? Can you tell us anything?"

Thomas debated his options. None were looking viable. "I remember."

Newt glanced a Minho, who just raised his eyebrows, a silent encouragement to continue. "Remember what?"

Thomas, who had been staring at Newt's shoes, looked up, lip trembling. "Everything," he said with a voice far too broken to belong to someone so young.

A chill fell over the hut and no one could shake it.

Alby didn't bother knocking when he walked in, Gally reluctantly in tow.

"Did he say anything?" Alby asked, as if Thomas couldn't hear.

Newt nodded. "He says he remembers."

Minho glanced at Gally, who was hovering in the doorway. "He wants to talk to you," he said, though it was obvious Alby already told him.

The other Keepers stepped aside to let him in. He hesitated but then he walked into the hut. Without speaking, the other Gladers walked out, dragging Jeff along with them. They closed the door, cutting the two off from the rest of the Glade.

Thomas would have stood if he could have, but he didn't. Instead, he scrubbed his face with his palms and looked over his shoulder.

Gally stood there, too big for the space, eyes darting all over the place. "I didn't come here," he said, his voice  _loud_  in the silence, "when you were…"

Thomas had heard Ben's screams during the days after he was stung. He made it back with Minho just like Thomas had. He had also gotten lose and attacked Thomas in the woods. But Thomas remembered the screams, remembered the greenish-black veins popping all over.

Had that happened to him?

Thomas shrugged and returned to his slouching position. He didn't say anything, his body trembling, eyes watering again.

Gally moved on his own accord, sitting next to Thomas. He saw Thomas's hands shaking and, slowly, reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder, solid, strong, a tether, a reminder that Thomas was actually  _here_  and not lost in what he remembered.

"Gally," Thomas said finally, his voice a stuttering, trembling mess, a perfect echo for his shaking form. "I remember everything. Everything from before the Maze."

"What do you mean?"

"The Griever stings…they bring back your memories." Thomas coughed to hide a sob and Gally squeezed his shoulder. "I remember who I was. Before."

"Couldn't have been more of a shuckface than you are now."

Gally's attempt at humor wasn't lost on Thomas, but smiling wasn't something he was capable of doing right now. "I was worse than the shuckface I am now," Thomas said, rubbing his nose with the back of his wrist. "I worked…Gally, I worked for the Creators."

Unlike when Newt and Alby tried to talk to him, Thomas  _had_  to look at Gally. And Gally was wearing his usual "what is this slinthead talking about?" look on his face whenever Thomas tried speaking to him.

"I worked for the Creators,  _with_  them. I…they took me when I was a kid and they put me through tests. I helped," he gulped for air, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, "I helped them create the Maze."

"What? What're you talking about?" Gally's frown deepened.

Thomas shook his head. "I don't know exactly. I mean everything…the memories are there, but they're not all clear. I just know that I helped make this place. And, I know why we're here."

Gally was being more levelheaded about this than Thomas thought he would. Gally was even surprised by his own calm. "Why?"

Tears fell again. Thomas blinked and shook his head, grabbing Gally's knee with one of his hands. "Gally, we can't stay here," Thomas managed to get out. He knew Gally wanted to. All Gally wanted was to stay here in the Glade where everything was controllable and relatively safe. But Thomas knew that could never happen. "Gally, they won't let us stay in the Maze much longer. We're gonna have to leave."

"No we don't," Gally said, shaking his head. "What if whatever memories you think you have are fake?"

"They're not." He lifted his other hand and grabbed onto Gally's shirt. "Gally, I sent you here to the Maze. I sent everyone here. It's my fault you're all here."

Gally should have been angry. He should have gotten to his feet, yelled at Thomas for a few minutes and stormed out, never to be seen again by the likes of the former Greenie. Instead, he swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke in his normal tone:

"I like it here."

There was absolutely nothing Gally could do to stop Thomas from grossly sobbing, his forehead against Gally's collarbone. Gally rubbed his back and Thomas bunched his shirt in his hands and cried until he felt sick.

"I don't know what to do now," Thomas said, voice muffled, his breath heavy and hot through Gally's shirt.

"Shuck that," Gally muttered. "I think you're the only one here who knows what the hell they're doing."

Thomas sat back, even more physically exhausted than he had been before. He was sure that he could eat an entire pot of Frypan's stew right about now. "You gonna tell everyone we were fighting?" Thomas asked, coughing a throaty cough and wiping his face with his hands.

"And miss telling them about you slobbering all over me?" Gally half smirked.

The smirk didn't last very long.

Thomas had only been screaming and writhing for half a day, but it was still half a day.

The commotion outside, the screeching, told them both something was wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doors weren't closing.

Everyone was in a panic.

They gathered together near the huts. Gally was holding Thomas up until he could shove food in his face enough to regain his strength.

Newt and Alby were both talking. Thomas wasn't hearing any of it.

"It's my fault!" Thomas shouted over the commotion. The Grievers were sure to be dragging their wormie bodies into the Glade soon. "I got stung and I got my memories back."

Whispers in the crowd.

"What are you talking about, Tommy?" Newt asked.

"I worked for the Creators. I helped make this Maze," Thomas said, speaking louder as the chattering got more intense. "It's my fault you're all here. I think me getting stung set things in motion."

There were a few "throw him in the Pit"s, but everyone shot that idea down quickly since the Pits were on the other side of the Glade and no one wanted to walk there now.

"Set what in motion?" Alby asked.

"The End," Aris spoke up. He pushed through and stood near Thomas. "I came up in the Box with these vials. They make it so you live through getting stung. I didn't know if they would work, but they do."

Thomas didn't know that bit of information. Neither did Gally. Gally still stood next to Thomas, his arm around Thomas's waist even though Thomas could stand well enough on his own by now.

"I remember…some things. Not much. But I know my being here changes things. And Thomas—" A Griever screech broke off Aris's speech.

"Everybody hide!" Gally yelled. "In the trees, in the Council Room, anywhere." He let go of Thomas then.

"Minho!" Thomas yelled as everyone broke into motion. "We need weapons to fight them off."

Minho nodded and took off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All did not go as planned.

Many people died.

Zart, Alby, a dozen others. Chuck almost.

The sun rose, the doors were still open. The Glade was a wreck.

And Gally was still Gally.

Thomas was right: he didn't want to leave the Glade. It was his home, he was safe here, he was in control here.

There were Gladers who wanted to stay too. Gally thought he was going to have to send Aris in the Maze by force, an offering to the Grievers, but Thomas wouldn't let him.

"I'm going," Thomas said, slamming down the blunt end of a spear in front of the doors. "I know there's no way we can live here forever. Even if we leave, the Grievers will keep coming back." His eyes scanned the small crowd of boys behind Gally. "We'll find a way out."

"If you don't?" Gally asked, his throat tight.

Minho lifted a beeping metallic device. "This. Scavenged it off one of the Grievers. We think it's what the Grievers use to find their way around the Maze. Maybe it leads to where they go during the day."

"It's a slim shot," Newt agreed. "But it's the only one we've got. Either that or we stay here and get slaughtered tonight."

Some of the Gladers behind Gally started to move toward Thomas's group. Thomas turned to Gally then, an open plea on his face.

"Gally, if you stay here, you're going to die. The Grievers are going to come back," he said, leaning on his spear. "Gally, come with us."  _Come with me_  he conveyed with his eyes. Or so he hoped. "The Maze isn't your home. It isn't home to any of us."

Gally set his jaw. "Good luck against the Grievers."

Thomas felt like he'd been socked in the gut. He would have preferred that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The woman in white blew her own brains out in front of them on the screen. Thomas flinched and turned away.

"She said we were special," Newt said.

Doors opened, revealing a long, dark hallway. Thomas knew that they had to leave that way, but he couldn't move. Not yet.

"Thomas." The voice belonged to someone who shouldn't have been there.

"Gally?" Thomas turned to find Gally indeed standing there. He was holding in one hand a key similar to the one Thomas and Minho used to get to the Griever den. In the other… "Gally, why do you have a gun?"

He had picked it up off of the ground. There were bullets in it, he could feel the weight in the handle. "I…I followed you. The Greivers got the others," Gally said, each word strangled out of him.

Thomas stepped forward, but Newt put a hand on his chest to stop him. Gally's hand with the gun shook.

"Gally," Thomas said calmly, holding up his hands palm out. "Put down the gun."

"I can't," Gally said, tears dripping down his face. "I wanted to go with you, Thomas. They wouldn't let me."

Thomas was confused but focused on the gun, on getting it away. But Gally just lifted it higher out in front of him. Thomas's heart thudded in his chest. He kept telling himself that this couldn't be Gally. It  _couldn't_  be. Like he said, someone was making him do this.

"Gally, please," Thomas begged.

Gally shook his head, more tears fell. "I can't leave. I belong to the Maze."

It happened too fast. Behind him, Minho threw Winston's spear and the gun went off.

Gally fell. So did Chuck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"It wasn't him," Newt said in the helicopter. He had to yell, even though he was sitting right next to Thomas.

Thomas heard what Gally had said. It didn't mean that Chuck was any less dead. It didn't make Gally any less dead either.

"I know," Thomas said. The words were hollow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nearly two months later, when Thomas, Minho, Brenda and Jorge walked through the slums of Denver, Thomas had nothing on his mind other than Newt. Newt, wise and calm and thoughtful,  _not immune_. He couldn't believe it. If he could give his immunity away to anyone, it would be Newt.

They arrived to the address given to them by the strange man at the gate. It didn't look like much, but it was the only lead they had.

Minho knocked. Someone inside said to enter. The place was bare and dimly lit.

But Thomas could see just fine as someone stood up from their place in a chair in the middle of the room. He thought he was incapable to feel surprise after everything that happened between arriving in the Maze and now, but this was something else.

"Gally?" he gasped out.


End file.
